


No Saint, No Villain

by sportivetricks (tamlane)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Boss/Employee Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Suit Porn, Voyeurism, Workplace Sex, but no actual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 17:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8809174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamlane/pseuds/sportivetricks
Summary: Tina accidentally finds herself watching Graves blow off steam in his office after hours.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The lack of Goldgraves porn is tragic. I had to do something about it. Except this has no actual sex? D: I'm sorry, I have no reasonable excuse for my sexless porn kink. But I would like to kiss Colin Farrell's feet for rekindling my muse. ~~OK, maybe more than his feet.~~

"Get a load of this," Tina said, swiping her lips with garnet lipstick to hide their movement. She positioned the powder compact so that the mirror perfectly framed the vial and Galleons exchanging hands behind her.

She heard Graves whistle from inside the mirror. "Good work, Tina. I'm sending Kelly and Davis in now. Go home and get some sleep. I'm about to call it a night myself."

"I don't believe that for a minute," she said with a chuckle.

"And Tina?"

"Sir?"

"Nice barrette."

Rolling her eyes, she snapped the compact shut and sauntered out into the alleyway, just catching the angry roar of the apprehended suspects before she apparated home.

Queenie was still up, of course, lounging in her favorite armchair in her pink slip and dressing gown, pretending to read the latest edition of that beauty mag she subscribed to. "Teenie! Finally. You want me to warm you up some dinner?"

"I'd just fall asleep in it." Tina shrugged out of her jacket and hung it in the magic carpet crate they were using as a makeshift wardrobe. She looked at Queenie out of the corner of her eye, biting her lip. "Sorry to keep you up so late again."

Queenie shrugged, flipping the pages of her magazine a bit more vigorously. "He needed someone who looked good in a dress, I get it."

"There's more to it than that, and you know it," Tina bristled.

"You're supposed to work days. This makes three times in the past two weeks."

"You think I'm gonna tell him no?"

Queenie pursed her lips.

"Now what's that look for?"

Tossing the magazine aside, Queenie got up and pulled out her wand, pulling their dry laundry from the clotheshorse and folding it neatly in midair. "I don't think you _can_ tell him no," she said softly.

Tina leaned against the kitchen partition, yanking her heels off her aching feet. "God, Queenie, it's not like I'm risking my life. It's just some light surveillance. And I got the mirror as backup."

"I wasn't talking about the job."

Sometimes Tina really hated having a sister who was a Legilimens. "Uh-huh. I appreciate the concern. Really," she said sarcastically, slipping Queenie's dragonfly barrette out of her hair and setting it on the kitchen table. 

"I know Mr. Graves is a good boss." Queenie looked at Tina over her shoulder. "But I'm not sure Mr. Graves is the most honorable man."

"Yeah, well, I'm not always a saint, either, am I?"

"That's what worries me."

Tina pinched the bridge of her nose. The only thing worse than bickering with Queenie was knowing she was right. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed." She paused at her bedroom door, watching Queenie stack some clean dishes in the cupboard. "Good night."

"'Night, Teen."

Tina shut the door behind her, pulling the compact from her garter and tossing it on the bed. She sighed in relief as she stripped out of the dress and into her comfy blue pajamas. She settled down onto the bed, her fingers tracing the intricate engraving on the pewter compact.

Everyone had a thing for their boss at some time, didn't they? It wasn't like she was going to act on it. And despite what Queenie seemed to think, it was hard to imagine Graves would ever entertain the notion of an office affair. He was professional to a fault. She opened the compact, scanning through the night's footage until his face appeared from earlier, when he was giving her directions to the club. She paused it, studying the sharp angles of his face. No, Graves was all business.

She heard Queenie get into bed in the next room and tapped the latch twice on the compact with a sigh to shut off the recording.

Somehow she found herself with a live view into Graves' office. He was sitting at his desk, shirtsleeves rolled up, flipping through a large volume.

"Mr. Graves, sir," she said quietly, "I think you left your mirror on."

He didn't reply. 

"Mr. Graves?" she said, a little louder.

He turned another page, oblivious to her presence. He must have had the volume off. Tina watched as he picked up his quill and made a note in the margin. She never would have guessed he was the type to write in books. He set the quill back down just as quickly and idly flexed and relaxed his fist, the muscles working in his forearm just under a thin, fuzzy layer of dark hair.

If Tina had any sense at all, she would have shut the compact and gone to sleep. But the temptation was too great. She never got to see Graves like this – alone, unguarded, clothes not perfectly in place.

She watched as he pushed the book away, rubbing his eyes. He rolled his head, stretching his neck. Yawned. Tina stared. She hadn't been sure until that moment that Graves ever did anything so banal as yawning. At least not unironically. She'd been on the receiving end of some rhetorical yawns.

She _was_ aware that he drank, so she wasn't terribly surprised when she saw him open a crystal bottle of amber liquid and pour a moderate portion in a tumbler.

"Hey, Teenie," Queenie said from the other room, startling her. "You want a nightcap?"

"No, Queenie," Tina snapped. She knew her thoughts were probably loud, but it was none of Queenie's business if she wanted to watch her boss unwind for a minute. "I'm trying to go to sleep."

"All right, honey. Just thought I'd ask."

Tina's finger hovered over the latch as she felt a sudden rush of guilt. Then Graves began unbuttoning his waistcoat, and the guilt and her irritation with Queenie were drowned in a rushing tide of curiosity. She had never seen Graves with his waistcoat open. It hung open now, revealing the same creamy silk faille that lined his overcoat. She'd obviously never seen his suspenders, either. They were blood red, like the edging on his jacket, the clamps gleaming silver.

He took a tiny sip of the whiskey and went to work on his tie more briskly, jerking the knot free as though it had offended him. He unclipped one side of his scorpion collar pin and left it dangling from the other side of his collar. Tina gulped. She had definitely never seen the hollow of Percival Graves' neck. She had never known the hollow of any neck could be so—

"Tina!"

"What, Queenie?" she yelled.

"Have you seen my mauve scarf?"

"Mercy Lewis," Tina gritted out, "what do you need it for right now?"

"Can't sleep. Thought I'd give it a wash and press."

Tina stared in awe as Graves worked his way down the front of shirt, releasing buttons. Land's sake, she couldn't believe this was happening. "Well check the wardrobe and leave me be!" she said. "I was almost asleep." One thing about it: one never had to feel guilty about lying to a Legilimens.

"Okay…"

Tina watched, spellbound, as Graves tugged his shirttail free of the front of his trousers and pushed his shirt open. She'd figured he wore a union suit like most men, but apparently he'd adopted the new boxer shorts-only style of underdress. It was surreal. She was looking at her boss's bare chest. Well, not exactly bare. A small but respectable amount of jet black hair was scattered across his chest, thinning to a narrow line that ran down the valley of his abdomen, down—

Tina clamped her hand over her mouth. He was unbuttoning his trousers. No, no, no, she had to stop watching now.

She couldn't have stopped if she'd had a wand to her head.

Graves pulled his flies aside and untied the drawstring on his boxers. Then he slipped his hand inside. Tina sat straight up in bed, gaping, half expecting Queenie to interrupt again any moment. It would have been a miracle if Queenie couldn't hear her heart racing. She almost wished Queenie _would_ interrupt again and tell her to put the blasted mirror away already. She certainly didn't seem to have the willpower to do it herself.

Her boss was having a wank. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd imagined this, but the reality…. It was overwhelming. Graves slid down in his chair slightly, spreading his knees. Tina could just make out the slow, unmistakable motion of his hand inside his boxers. His other hand hung over the side of his armchair, whiskey tumbler dangling forgotten from his fingers. His head fell back, and Tina's gaze darted between his moving hand and his pronounced Adam's apple, bobbing as he swallowed.

There wasn't a single noise, not a peep, from Queenie's room, but guilt nagged at Tina. Still, it couldn't match the compulsion she felt to keep watching. Seeing Graves so open, so vulnerable, so _undone_ — it sent a rush of arousal through her. Yet he wasn't so vulnerable, even like this. Even relaxed, he struck an imposing figure, his physical presence commanding awe with its sharp angles and fluid muscle.

Tina mindlessly scooted back in her bed as she watched, getting more comfortable – which was, of course, the last thing she needed to be doing. The bedsprings squeaked slightly at the movement, but Queenie was still silent. Tina toyed with the waistband of her pajamas, wanting to relieve some of the tension building between her legs.

Then he stopped.

She bit back a groan of frustration. How very like Graves, she thought, annoyed. She wouldn't have been surprised if this was some sort of little control game he played with himself. What on earth was he thinking, anyway, having a wank in his office in the middle of the night? Didn't the man ever go home?

He rested his hand on his belly and took a long, leisurely sip of the whiskey, gritting his teeth against the burn. Then he sat with his eyes closed for a long while, still as a stone. He took another quick sip and set the tumbler down on his desk. He ran his fingers through his hair, dragged his hands down over his face.

Well, that's it, Tina thought with a sigh. Maybe he'd decided to head home after all. He slumped back in his chair, and Tina was overcome by a combination of relief and disappointment, tinged with hot, hard yearning. What would she have given at that moment, to be there in that room with him? To be anyone other than his colleague? To lower herself to her knees in front of his disheveled figure and finish him off with her hands? With her mouth? What would she have done to feel Percival Graves come unwound inside her?

"Tina."

Queenie's voice was so quiet she barely heard it. Tina dragged her hand over her face and said, just as quietly, "Yeah?"

"You still not asleep?"

Tina swallowed heavily. "Was almost there."

The guilt suddenly flooded her. If the tables were turned, she would be appalled, humiliated, and she wasn't half as proud or private as Graves. With a resigned sigh and one long, last look, she slowly began easing the compact closed.

He took his cock out.

Tina fumbled the compact, almost sending it flying across the room. She again slapped her hand over her mouth, barely believing her eyes. It was abhorrent of her to watch this. She knew it. But she sat there breathless, transfixed, as Graves' clenched fist slowly glided from tip to base, exposing the full, thick, bulging length of his cock. The bulbous, angry-looking head charged forward from the foreskin, oozing pre-ejaculate. Tina could see it glistening on his fingers.

His knuckles whitened from the intensity of his grip. He steadily pumped his length, his nostrils flaring, his lips a thin, solid line. Tina realized he had only been playing before. This was Graves on a mission to get himself off. One edge of his shirt flopped in his way, and he shrugged it aside impatiently, his suspender snapping loose, his bare shoulder popping into view. His free hand pulled out his balls, squeezing and fondling them as he ever so slightly picked up the pace of his strokes.

He was godlike. This, Tina realized, was pure, raw Graves, following whims one would barely guess he entertained. And his body was made for it. His body was built to grasp, to pierce, to fuck, to reign even as he lost control.

His lips moved as if he were talking to himself. Tina would have given anything, anything, to know what he was saying. Was he cooing encouragements to an imaginary partner? Praising them? Maybe even – she shuddered at the thought – giving them commands?

He began rocking in his chair, grinding his hips into the motion of his hand. His breathing was quicker, shallower, his chest heaving under the building pressure that had nowhere to go but out. He squeezed his eyes shut, his fist tightening. He bared his teeth in a fierce expression that stopped the breath in Tina's throat. Then he jerked violently once, twice, and the grimace melted into an expression of pure elation as spurts of thick, pearly ejaculate shot from his cock and streaked his abdomen.

"Tina?" came Queenie's weak voice through the wall.

Tina didn't reply. She was frozen, speechless. She watched in amazement as Graves dropped his arms over the armrests of his chair, his head lolling back. He didn't even bother to clean himself up yet. He just sat there, covered in his release, his chest rising and falling heavily.

Finally he sat up, rubbing his face and neck. He took another sip of his whiskey and glanced idly around the room. His eyes came to rest on the mirror, widening.

Tina snapped the compact shut.

***

"No, not yet. I want more legwork. Miller, I want you down on the docks. O'Reilly, talk to our man in customs. Where do we stand on Fiorini's license?

Tina permitted herself to temporarily zone out as Graves fired questions and orders at the imports team. She tried not to fidget, but it was torture having to pretend nothing had happened, even more so because Graves seemed so completely unfazed. She didn't know what she had expected. She realized now it was probably foolish of her to lie awake worrying as she had. Of course Graves wouldn't mention it. What was he supposed to do? Reprimand her for misuse of MACUSA property? That would be one hell of a write-up.

She envied his cool professionalism, perhaps even resented it. How dare he stand there radiating such intense confidence and authority when the encounter had left her such a mess? Why couldn't she just shift back into work mode like him? Why couldn't she look at him without seeing that undone necktie hanging around his neck, his head thrown back, his teeth gritted, that steady motion of his clenched fist?

"Which brings me to you, Goldstein."

Tina jumped. "Sir?"

He shuffled through some pamphlets on the table. "I'm not convinced this is cause for concern, but I want you to go to No-Maj archives and see what you can dig up on this New Salem group. We can't be too careful."

"Yes, sir."

He lifted his head, looking her straight in the eye for the first time since last night. "You have the mirror with you?"

Tina's mouth went dry. His expression was inscrutable as always. She felt both horrified and perversely thrilled for him to bring it up like this in front their colleagues. All she could manage was a weak "the mirror, sir?"

"The surveillance mirror," he said, gaze unflinching, all business. "From last night. Do you have it with you?"

"It's in my bag, sir. In the office."

Graves held her gaze for an uncomfortably long moment without replying. At last he looked away, taking a quick sip of water. "Give it to Miller. He'll need it at the harbor."

"Yes, sir." She suspected Queenie was going to get her wish of having Tina home at nights more often.

Graves scooped his briefing papers into his mahogany leather portfolio and, with a nod of finality, dismissed them. "Get to work, team."

***

With all they had going on, Tina couldn’t believe Graves had relegated her to _research_ for the day, particularly something so apparently insignificant as a No-Maj religious cult. Was this his way of punishing her? Graves wasn't above such pettiness.

She spent the morning in No-Maj government archives, growing ever more peevish as she manually went through record after record. The group seemed like any other of hundreds of end-of-days fanatics that had cropped up over the city and country in the wake of the war. There were concerning details in some of the adoption filings, but President Picquery – and Graves, by extension – would hardly be concerned about humanitarian affairs in the No-Maj world.

Tina's mind kept wandering back to the previous night. She couldn't sit behind a desk all day after that. She needed to be up, moving, _doing_ something. Her stomach started grumbling around eleven, and she decided to call it a day with the archives, maybe head to the Blind Pig for a bite to eat and check in with a few contacts on that side of town.

She swung back by headquarters to drop off her files and was almost back out the door again when Graves' cool voice stopped her.

"Tina."

Sometimes she wished she hadn't insisted he call her that. Especially since he'd never returned the gesture.

"Sir?" she said over her shoulder. Her heart raced.

"Find anything of interest?"

Tina had the feeling he wasn't speaking specifically about the assignment.

"Bits and pieces. Do you want a report now, or—?"

"No." His eyes bored into hers. "But I'd like a word. In my office."

Graves had wanted a word with her in his office many times, and rarely a pleasant one. That was standard operating procedure where he was concerned, and his underlings came to expect it, even respect him more for it. There was an odd sense of fond regard even in his toughest admonitions.

Tina wasn’t sure she'd hear that sort of regard right now. She definitely didn't feel she deserved it. She had no idea what to expect. Dread and anticipation paralyzed her. Worst of all: the words "in my office" might as well have been a caress considering what they did to her body. Would she ever be able to see the inside of Graves' office again without imagining him leaning back in that chair, working himself to release?

"Please," he said gently, gesturing her inside.

There was no arguing with the boss. Tina followed him inside, unable to keep her chin high.

Graves slowly, silently paced around to the back of his desk, avoiding her eye. He mechanically tidied some papers, replaced his quill in its holder. "Shut the door, please?"

That was new but not unexpected. This wasn't exactly a conversation either of them wanted to be overheard.

He remained silent for a torturous length of time. Minutes, it felt like. Was he intentionally drawing out her dread? She wouldn't have put it past him. Or was it taking him that long to consider his words? It was hard to imagine he hadn't planned a lecture in advance.

As the silence stretched on, part of Tina wanted to blurt out a thousand sentiments at once. She wanted to tell him how dreadfully sorry she was, although she could never be _entirely_ sorry. She wanted to lie, to make excuses. She even wanted to fling accusations. Who did something like that in their office? Why was his mirror on and the volume off? Why didn't he confront her first thing that morning instead of that passive showdown in the briefing room?

But there was nothing to say because it was all her fault. Against her own better judgment, and even with Queenie pestering her, she had spied on him, had betrayed a crucial trust between colleagues. Her shoulders sagged with the weight of it.

She wished he would yell.

Finally, as though deciding something, Graves shrugged out of his jacket. He hung it on the back of his chair. Tina stared, dumbstruck, as he unfastened his cufflinks and dropped them into a silver tray on his desk with a sharp metallic clink. He started rolling up his sleeves, his eyes now trained on hers, his lips set in a thin line.

"Mr. Graves?" Her voice cracked in panic. His behavior was so incongruous with any of the likely scenarios she had imagined that Tina could hardly fathom it was real.

"Silence." Graves stuffed his hands in his pockets and started pacing towards her.

Closer and closer he came. Tina didn't realize she was backing away until her back hit the door.

At last he spoke.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

"Mr. Graves, sir, I am so terribly sorry." Her voice shook. "So sorry. I swear I didn't mean to—"

She stopped, startled, as Graves lifted his arms and trapped her between them against the door. He undoubtedly meant it to be intimidating, and it was. At the same time, she felt a rush of sympathy for him. Not for him as her boss, or him as her colleague, but for him as a man. As a human whose trust she'd betrayed. And no small part of her also felt bizarrely thrilled by the guarded menace he was giving off. Thrilled and, at the same time, scared that perhaps she had crossed a line that tested the limits of his reserve.

"I didn’t—"

"Shhhhhhh," he whispered, right beside her ear, in an almost conspiratorial way. Tina felt a sliver of relief that she was no longer looking him in the eye. She heard him swallow, felt his body heat all around her. "You intruded on a very private moment."

"Yes, sir." She squeezed her eyes shut, flattening her palms against the door behind her. "I actually… I didn't see very much, sir. I—"

"Don't lie to me, Tina. Just answer the question."

"The question?" She knew darned well what question.

"Did. You. Enjoy. Yourself."

Lying wasn't even a consideration. "Yes."

Graves dropped his arms at once and headed back to his desk. "Have a seat."

Tina didn't even think to refuse, mostly because she wasn't sure how much longer her shaky legs would hold her up. She watched as Graves conjured the crystal bottle from the night before – and one tumbler. She didn't argue that point, either. She hardly felt she deserved a drink, as much as she needed one. Still, there was something rather condescending, even paternalistic, about her sitting there awaiting his rebuke while he was leaned against the front of his desk, pouring himself a drink. More troubling was the way her body reacted to being treated like that. Then again, she barely remembered her father, and if she was honest with herself—

"I like to think I'm a fair man," Graves said, studying his drink. "Do you think I'm fair?"

"Undeniably fair," Tina replied truthfully.

He took a small sip of whiskey, meeting her eye over the rim. "I think it's only fair I give you the chance to even things up between us." He took another sip, letting that hang in the air between them.

There was no doubt in Tina's mind what he was insinuating. And he was right. It was only fair. "Would you like for me to take the mirror home, tonight, sir? And…" She gestured vaguely with her hand.

Graves looked puzzled. "No, Tina. That mirror is MACUSA property. I would like for you to bring yourself off in front of me right here. Right now."

"Excuse me?" she replied numbly.

"I don't know how much clearer I can be."

Queenie's words from the previous night came rushing back to her, as good as if Queenie was broadcasting them from across the building: _I'm not sure Mr. Graves is the most honorable man._

But he was no villain, either. He wasn't ordering her to do it. He wasn't forcing her to do it. He wasn't threatening her, blackmailing her, or coercing her in any way. But how could Tina walk out of that office without giving him what he wanted? Actually, there was a certain villainy in making it her decision. She rather wished he would force her. A slight narrowing of his eyes made her wonder if he could sense that.

Beyond all that, one thought demanded her voice: "I don't think I can, sir."

"What do you mean, you don't think you can?"

"I mean I've never…" She trailed off because it was easier to let him think she'd never masturbated in front of anyone than it was to admit she'd never climaxed in anyone's company at all. She wasn't even sure it was possible.

Graves gave her a look of surprise that she knew was meant for effect. "It's not something I do all the time, either. Believe me."

"But you didn't know I was watching."

Another sip and then a slight shrug. "So pretend I'm not here."

"And you're just… going to watch?"

"Oh yes." His voice was soft, husky. "You have my full, undivided attention."

He was dodging the question, but his words were as good as a touch. Tina took a deep breath. It was only fair. And after all that had happened, she was already so turned on. She likely could have climaxed in less than a minute if she'd been alone.

Testing the waters, she moved slightly against the seat of her chair. It felt so good that she grabbed the ends of her armrests and just let herself rock like that a few long minutes. Good as his word, Graves patiently watched the motion.

She could have closed her eyes. It would have been easier. But somehow his gaze was fuel to the fire. Never in a million years would Tina ever have believed she would be grinding against Graves' office chair, right in front of him. She felt drugged by the transgressive nature of what she was doing. Soon the rocking alone wasn't enough. She moved one hand between her legs, pressing down hard on her mound through her trousers. "God." The word burst from her out of nowhere.

Graves answered the exclamation with another sip of his drink, this one longer. She half-expected him to ask her what she was thinking about, but he didn't. At that moment, all she could think was how much she wished she had Queenie's gift so she could know what _he_ was thinking. He betrayed no arousal. The man from last night was gone, and the man in front of her was pure Graves: cool, contained, tightly coiled.

As her hand worked faster, she let her eyes take in his figure from head to toe – the stern cut of his hair, his heavy, furrowed brows, the bluish shadow of facial hair that colored his jaw no matter how recently he'd shaven. His sharply tailored clothes. His gleaming black boots peeking from under his tightly laced spats. In her whole life, Tina had never seen another such man as him. Again she imagined getting on her knees in front of him. She imagined letting him use her in any way he liked.

She stopped for a moment, covering her face with her hands. She was so on edge, but she couldn't get herself off this way. How she could have used his encouragement! But he seemed determined to do nothing more than watch. Almost angrily, Tina jerked her belt open and unbuttoned her trousers, stuffing her hand inside them, massaging herself over her silk tap pants. They were soaked through. She rubbed quick circles over her clitoris in earnest, rocking her hips up against her hand.

Graves was no longer watching the motion of her hand. His eyes were trained on her face, his stare a challenge. Tina met it, though she wanted terribly to close her eyes now. She knew what it took to get her off, and she couldn't do it. She couldn't look at him while having those thoughts. She couldn't risk what he might see in her eyes because then he would know about her. 

Most of all, she couldn't risk him being able and willing to give it to her. If he was, she'd rather never know.

"I can't," she conceded, pulling her hand out.

"Don't stop."

The sharpness of his tone startled her. She was accustomed to getting orders from Graves, but they had never sounded like that. The two words shot through her like electricity, and she immediately resumed her task, her strokes quicker, harder.

She could suddenly see that it was effecting him, too. His drink sat forgotten on his desk now. His knuckles shone white where he gripped the edge of his desk. Before long, Tina was close, so close. She let her eyes flutter closed.

"Open your eyes, Tina."

She shook her head.

" _Open them._ "

She stared up at Graves imploringly. She needed more, but she had no language to tell him. And telling him would mean passing a point of no return. She was going to have to fake it. There was no other way. He would never know the difference. But she would, she thought with a pang of bitterness, as though she had already cheated herself out of it.

"I can't!" she cried at last.

Graves was on her so fast that she nearly fell back in the chair. "Oh yes you can," he gritted out, shoving her hand back into her trousers. He grabbed the back of her chair and leaned over her, his lips at her ear again. "And you will. Now finish it."

Tina whimpered, rubbing herself furiously. He knew. Probably had always known.

"Finish it now, Tina, or I'll finish it for you." His voice dropped. "And you might not like my methods. You know what I was thinking about last night? I watched you put on that lipstick, and all I could think about was how much I wanted it smeared all over my cock."

Yeah, he knew, all right.

"I was thinking about tying you down to that desk right there and spanking your ass raw and fucking so many orgasms out of you that you beg me to stop." His breath was heavy, hot in her ear. "I wouldn't stop."

"Oh god," she panted.

"You like that idea, too, don't you?"

She didn't, couldn’t reply.

"Don't you?" he asked more fiercely.

"Yes."

"Finish it, Tina."

She could feel it rising in her, feel herself teetering on the threshold. She grabbed hold of Graves' arm as the tickling precursor spread outward from her pelvis, her whole body tensing in anticipation.

"Now, Tina. _Finish it now._ "

Tina cried out incoherently as it washed over her in a series of spasms that left her body jerking in agonized relief. She buried her face in Graves' shirtsleeve, panting against the warm, soft fabric as she rode out the last of it.

"Good girl."

A sob tore at her throat.

"Shhh."

He held the back of her head in his palm, his thumb stroking the wildly pulsing vein in her neck.

"It's alright. Look at me."

She shook her head. Is this what he had felt when he saw her face in that mirror? It was hard to imagine.

"Look at me."

Tina dragged her hand down her face and tentatively raised her eyes to his.

"It's alright now," he said gently.

"We're even?" she whispered, her lips dry from panting.

He gave her an enigmatic shadow of a smile. "I should say so."

But they weren't. They could never be even, and that disparity hung there between them, suddenly uncomfortable.

Graves tugged at his sleeves, straightening them. He turned his back to her, downing the rest of his drink in one quick gulp and banishing the bottle and tumbler. Tina righted herself as she watched him smoothly screw his cufflinks back into place, his eyes now on the stack of papers in front of him.

"I think it would be best for neither of us to entertain these impulses in the future."

Tina wasn't sure if she was imagining the tone of regret she heard in his voice. "Of course, sir. I understand." 

"You must be hungry. Grab some lunch and get back to work. I want your report on the Salemers first thing in the morning."

"Yes, sir." She stood, pulling her jacket around her, and turned towards the door.

"Tina."

She looked at him over her shoulder.

"It never happened, all right?"

She wondered if she looked as ambivalent as he did.

"It never happened," she agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I love feedback. :) You can find me on tumblr at [sportivetricks](http://sportivetricks.tumblr.com/).


End file.
